a kind of white tempura

fraught with g/old lamé my brimyoung
caught-on-tape most limber mourning dovelet
sessions quease with taste you are my third tread
reassuring a sung wind chemise
as faithfully I camisole my weight loss
in our nearby faculty quintet all double reed
all sinecure all limbly limed
with petrol ducks in shallow rows

veneer has merely taken place
I womb the seared round chastity
that crosses midlines wholly owned
and tremble in carved dark
space of wild leaves
glowing sanctus in the near-
resembling easterlies

et tu root cause of shelflife
are the memories melodious as thee
is censure the sole aggravation
are the palms of sweatlined rosters
yours and yours in line
along the dumb text of a scapular
worn by scapegoats in the gala
mention of a hiberation

drum your way through to
the crop receiving heat's own sacred flight
I warm your fleeting rasp of honeycomb and twine
mimesis is all mine
the bindweed correspondence
between whole tone and despair
rung twice

how many thimbles does it take
to hold an ounce of rice
our loaves are thumbtones
and our speech gives way
our stoic members blanche
in their spare part[icles] of time
how young must one be
to prepare to ring the sparse
alarm how peopled are retreats